Dear angel
by Nadin4400
Summary: AU. Inspired by and starts after 4x16 "On the head of a pin". What Dean's conversation with Alastair led to. Better summary inside. COMPLETE! *Please R&R*
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Dear angel

**Summary**: Torturing Alastair brought some memories back to life and Dean realized that saving the world from Apocalypse was not enough to make it up for what he had done in hell.

**Spoilers**: Through all 4 seasons but mainly 4x16

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to their original owners, Eric Kripke and CW

**Author's Note**: I was shocked by the latest episode so much that I couldn't stop thinking about it and I couldn't sleep, and truthfully, I had this story formed in my head long before I even finished watching the episode. The title is taken from the song "Dear Angel" performed by April Sixth, so probably it could be called a song-fic.

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**Chapter 1**

-- _Dear angel of mine, _

_Where do I start to express how I feel? _

_Well, my love's gone blind. _

_Now all that I feel is what I hear. _

_Your words rip and tear, and _

_Through my heart so weak and pure. _

_Now I find myself wanting to die_

_"Dear Angel" by April Sixth _--

_…the first time you sliced into that weeping bitch…_

Dean snapped his eyes open and stared at the scarred ceiling, his heart beating fast in his chest and his breath uneven. A car passed by outside and gave him a start. Physically, he knew where he was. Vaguely. But his mind was somewhere else, in the darkest of all places ever existing. In the most horrible place one could ever think of.

It was unbearable, so much more than he could stand. Ever since he was back he couldn't stop thinking of her, his very first victim. He saw her before his mind's eye every single moment. She was haunting his thoughts when he was awake and never left his dreams when he was asleep, not that it was something frequent and long. And Dean always knew why Alastair chose her to be his first object of execution. Knew exactly what he wanted to do – wanted to show Dean that he not only defeated his will but also to demonstrate that if Dean could wiggle out of physical pain, or whatever pain there was when he didn't even have his body, he still couldn't get away from what was much worse than that.

At first Dean could see nothing but her eyes full of pure horror when she spotted him. Tied to the wall, she attempted to back away from him as if to merge into it. She didn't say a word as she watched him coming close, only her eyes grew bigger by the time he was within arm's reach. Destroyed. Crashed. Her will and her strength were not where they had always been when she was alive. She whimpered – the sound that turned everything inside of Dean – and turned away. She knew what was expecting her and she didn't try to escape. By this time she had already known that there was no way out. Belatedly, Dean remembered that she got there way before him. She knew where it led. She knew she could do nothing. She gave up and accepted the inevitable.

But her eyes… God, every single time their eyes met he saw that deep inside she was the same. There was fire and light and some strange determination; strange because she was no fool to actually believe that there was any hope for her. Perhaps, she thought that what had happened was a result of what she'd done. Perhaps, she saw it coming. Fallen angel with broken wings burned by the hellfire.

And if at first Dean couldn't see it getting any worse for them both, she reassured him of that when she started screaming and begging and pleading, and he knew that he could do nothing to change the situation; both of them knew that they had no other choice. She'd been holding on for long though, he was amazed to find out. He even almost believed that she could make it but she couldn't. No one could. And only God… no, only Devil knew what she'd been through here before she got to him. One thought was soothing, in a way, if there could be anything soothing in hell – whatever he did to her, it couldn't possibly be worse than what Alastair did before him.

It was always easier for him when she kept her eyes closed because otherwise he felt like she was looking right through him. And he also knew that it was easier for her, too. It was easier to pretend that it wasn't he who caused her the worst of possible pains, as it was easier for him to believe that there was someone else before him.

He didn't know how long they'd been together. Time had no meaning in hell. Each second was like an hour, and each hour was like a day, and each day was like a year. It felt long for him. But for her, Dean knew, it felt like eternity. He thought he hated her back when they both were alive. For some degree it was her fault that he ended up in the pit but seeing her there, sprawled on the wall, her blood and pain… And he wondered who was torturing who.

Dean remembered everything, every single moment he was down there. Every single thing he saw; every single thing he'd been through; every single thing he did; every single soul he tortured. But she was a special case. He only needed to close his eyes and she was there again; he could see every detail as clearly as they had been back then, and he knew that no time could change it. No time could ever dull the pain and lessen his self-hatred and resentment.

Son of a bitch knew how to push him, Dean thought angrily. Knew what to say to cut his scarred wound open again.

He wanted to escape. He wanted to get out at any cost… but now he wasn't sure anymore that he deserved being saved after all he'd done. Maybe staying in hell would be a fair punishment. Maybe he only got what he really deserved in the end. Yes, he got out of hell but hell was still inside of him, and that he couldn't change. His life was a mess. His brother was exorcizing demons with the power of his mind, without so much as a word. Jesus, he was _dating_ a demon! He was not Sam he used to be and Dean didn't know what to think and what to do. And his own demons haunting him were only making it worse.

He rolled off of the bed and came up to the window. Rumpled his hair with his fingers as he stared outside, at the sunlit parking lot. And it felt bad. It felt wrong to be here. Everything was wrong.

Dean whirled around when the door opened and closed behind his back.

_Sam_.

"Hey," Sam said and gave him cautious smile as if not sure it was appropriate; obviously trying to guess what mood Dean was in. Cleared his throat and gave his brother a studying once-over. "How are you doing?"

Questioning look on his face, definitely fighting to find proper words to say. God, he hated it. Sam had the same look on his face after their father's death. Like Dean was some fragile flower or something else easily breakable. There was concern, that Dean could get. But then there was sympathy, too, and it was not what he wanted to see.

"Terrific," he breathed out. He felt better, physically. Some bruises were still a matter of concern and every now and again his shoulder hurt when he was making thoughtless movements but all in all, he'd been in worse situations before and a couple of punches from Alastair were not a big deal. But it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He had to leave. He needed some air. He needed… He needed some space. Away.

Dean crossed the room and turned the doorknob. "I'll… I'll be back… um, soon," he muttered not looking Sam, pretending he was groping for the car keys in his pocket.

Sam frowned. "Dean, everything okay?"

_No._

"Sure," he smirked fighting to sound casual. "I just need some fresh air." Quick eye contact to make his game credible, and then he left heading for the Impala, keys clutched in his hand. Didn't remember if he even closed the door behind him.

Engine came to life and Dean sped out of the motel's parking lot and down the highway without thinking. He didn't care about where he was driving because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

The sun was going down. He rolled down the windows and let in some fresh air. Well, there was a good deal of dust too but it felt pretty nice to his face all the same. Some change. He needed change. He was living the same pattern of life for way too long. Like twenty-nine years. And, honestly, he didn't give a damn about Apocalypse or the end of the word, or other crap. After all he'd done down in the pit Dean knew that he could do nothing to make it up, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how many lives he saved. He would never forgive himself.

"Come on, I know you're somewhere there and that you hear me," he said into the air, even lowered the volume of his radio. "I need to talk to you."

He didn't need to turn his head to the right to know that the passenger's seat was no longer empty not more than a couple of seconds later, even though there was no stir of the air or a sound. They drove in silence for a while.

"I can't read your thoughts, Dean," Castiel's voice was impassive as always. Mostly, it set Dean's teeth on edge and he wanted to shake this angel or whoever he was to make him express some kind of emotions. "I can," he added as an afterthought. "But I'm not allowed. And I don't think you'd like me doing that."

"I appreciate your concern for my privacy," Dean chuckled.

It was dark now. He threw quick glance at his fellow traveler and saw him looking straight ahead, calm and patient. Never pushing – not when it wasn't he who needed to have something done. But even in such situation he first of all used persuasion as main instrument leaving – No one's actually asking you – for later.

"You wanted to talk about something?"

"How are things going? This idea of the war not only between angels and demons but also between angels and angels, or angels and God, take your pick, is sorta frightening, ya' know." Dean shrugged feeling slightly more nervous than he thought he would be. Still determined but not so sure of himself by the second.

Castile looked at him then, and even if Dean's eyes were on the road ahead he felt it.

"There is nothing new, and you know it. Otherwise I'd come to you myself."

"Sure you would," he shook his head. "You know that I don't care, don't you? You know that I don't give a shit if the whole world goes to hell that very moment, right?"

"You made it pretty clear. Although not always with the words."

"But you still keep asking me to be a part of this freaking comedy," Dean raised his eyebrow.

"We need you. I know that you don't believe in yourself, but you're strong. Stronger than you think."

"And also I broke the first seal," he reminded Castiel.

"It's not like it was your choice." The angel sounded almost apologetic. As if it was his fault. As if he was the one who forced Dean to give in to Alastair's persuasions.

"Whatever," Dean mumbled. He kept the pause for a while, took his time to take a deep breath because he was going to ask for something that probably even angel couldn't do. Not only couldn't but most likely wouldn't. "But you still can't _make_ me help you."

Castiel hesitated before speaking again, too. "Do you care so little about well-being of the entire humanity?"

"You can't even imagine!"

"Dean…"

"Don't start, okay? So, you dragged my precious ass out of hell. Thank you. But I kinda never asked you, see. Maybe you made the wrong choice. Maybe you needed to wait for someone else. It's not like I am the best candidate for the job you offer."

"Does this mean you're quitting?"

"If by quitting you mean a request _Send me back_, then no, not exactly."

"Then what?" There was curiosity, Dean was relieved to notice. So the guy wasn't a lost cause. Not completely.

"I'll do whatever you ask me to do. Except for repeating my torturing entertainment though," he added quickly. "Still not my idea of fun. But…" He paused again. "Bring her back." His fingers clenched around the steering wheel. "Bring her back and I'm a part of your game, whatever it is."

"Who?"

"You know who," Dean snapped. "Damn it, it is all I ask, Cas! Look, I never asked you to save me. I never asked _anything_, expect for leaving me alone maybe but that's a different story. I never wanted to be a part of all this crap and play Moses leading Jews to the Promised Land but if you want me to even lift my finger to help you, bring her back. Or go to hell with all your shit." His voice was ringing with anger and hope. "Or send me back there, that would be fair enough. Whatever. I don't care. But if you really need me as much as you say, you've gotta save her, too."

Castiel was silent for so long that Dean started darting quick looks in his direction, if only to make sure he was still in the car. Wouldn't put it past this winged guy to disappear into thin air the way he charmingly did so many times before. There was no guarantee he'd come next time Dean called him, unless he needed something from him, or unless he wanted to feed Dean another portion of his bullshit about his high mission, _blah, blah, blah_.

Finally, Castiel sighed, obviously taking Dean's warning seriously.

"You know that I can't do it, don't you?"

_-- __I bleed for the second time tonight _

_Holding the love that's in my mind. _

_If only my love could be with you. _

_If only this pain, this pain died too _

_So I break you away, away, away from me. _

_"Dear Angel" by April Sixth --_

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**To be continued...**

Reviews are always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note**: Honestly, I wanted to make this one a one-shot but somehow one-shots never work for me :)) At least this story didn't turn into another boring 10-or-more-chapters thing. But I tried to keep it in S4 style – dark, hopeless and desperate.

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**Chapter 2**

_-- __As I sit here alone _

_Thinking about everything that you said. _

_You know since I'm alone. _

_Well, maybe after all, I was better off dead. _

_Cause without you my life's gone down... _

_What do I do, when I find myself wanting to die?_

_"Dear angel" by April Sixth --_

Another room in yet another motel seemed to be as good as any other place.

"I'm not supposed to be here, Dean," Castiel said entering the room after him and closing the door behind them. "I'm not supposed to be considering your request."

"Or what?" Dean scoffed. "It's not like they can fire you from heaven, dude. They can't even kill you."

"They can do worse things."

"Worse?" Dean stopped in the middle of the room and slowly turned around. Looked Castiel in the face. "Do you have any idea what real _worse_ is? I mean I know you've been down to this hot resort, to drag me out and stuff, or not only me. Honestly, I don't care about your resume. But you've never been there as a guest of honor, or main course, speaking of that." He paused and continued when the angel didn't say a word. "I know that a great deal of those who got there in the first place deserved it. Like 99% of them. But not all."

"Are you going to tell me what makes her so special?" One brow quirked up questioningly, and Dean even thought for a moment that he heard amusement in Castiel's voice.

He scowled. "What is it? 20 questions?" Kept his glare flaring.

"I had an order to save you because…"

"Because God couldn't save the world without my help. I got that and I'm flattered," Dean interrupted him. "But I don't want to save _abstract_ world, okay? I care whether it is going to be destroyed or not, if it is any consolation, Cas. But for once in my life I want to help not just a bunch of people who have no idea who I am or what I am doing or why. Let's say that I want to start saving the word from saving someone particular. Is that okay with you? Honestly, I have no idea what you want me to say."

And for the first time Dean wondered if the fact that the angel didn't leave right away was a good sign or if it meant that he might as well start preparing himself for the sequel to his adventures. What if Castiel decided that obedience and following the orders was more important and sent him back down without so much as a mere hesitation? What if his dedication was stronger than logic and common sense? What if such thing as blackmailing wasn't working with the angels generally?

"We can't save everyone who made a mistake, Dean," and he sounded like he was sorry.

Dean's stomach clenched and he swallowed uneasily, fighting to keep his cool, at least externally. Not that he'd been doing a good job so far but that was just more than he could live with.

He didn't say anything for a while, and then. "It's not like I am asking you to understand. Just bring her back. We both know that you can do me a small favor."

Castile broke eye contact and looked around the room. Dean could practically see him struggling with himself and things that he probably considered right. Held his breath and counted the seconds.

"Listen, you ask me to be some stupid Messiah, which is, okay, ridiculous, but I see your point. You ask me to go against my brother because his messing up with bad company," Dean anything but winced at the thought about Ruby. "And truthfully, I can get that, too. You ask me to blindly follow your… well, _orders, _which makes me sick to the core. You made me go through the worst of all things imaginable and I swear to God you have no idea what it felt like. What it feels like now. Don't you think it is fair if I ask something in return?"

Finally, Castiel met his eyes again.

"I hope you're ready for the consequences, Dean."

And then there was light everywhere, so bright that at first Dean thought that the sun fell to the earth. He clenched his eyes shut, covered them with his hands and turned away but it seemed to make little difference. The light was everywhere and it was going right through his flesh and his eyelids. Somehow, it was not only blinding but also deafening and somewhat paralyzing. At first Dean thought that Castiel made a decision and he was making his return to the pit, and for a moment or two he wondered if he had gone too far in his stubborn determination.

But then everything was gone all of a sudden – the damned light was gone, thankfully – and the first thing Dean knew was that he could hear loud music coming from the car parked somewhere outside.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked twice waiting for them to adjust to what now seemed to be a very dark room. He looked around and saw Castiel standing right where he was not more than half a minute ago, although for some reasons Dean doubted that his understanding of time was correct.

"Holy crap!" He rubbed at his eyes. "Do bother to warn me the next time you're going to do that, okay? Man, that was… What the hell it was by—"

He trailed off when he finally spotted someone else standing a couple feet away from the angel and forgot how to speak. How to think even.

She looked exactly the same as he remembered. From life, Dean corrected himself mentally. He didn't want to remember what she looked like in hell. Wished he could erase all memories from down there for good.

The first thing that Bela knew was that she was breathing again, the feeling nearly forgotten by this time. There was smell of furniture polisher in the air and… oh, was that dust? It didn't look like anyone opened the widows in this room lately. And, God, her heart was _beating_. She gasped in surprise when she felt it thudding oddly against her ribs. Caught her breath for a moment to make sure that it wasn't yet another illusion of her. One of those that she learned to sink into when pain was turning from just unbearable to white hot. She looked down at herself and groped around her clothes in disbelief. Stared at her own hands – they were not tied to something or to each other any longer. And… nothing was cutting into her. Nothing was burning her from inside. Nothing… Oh, God, that was something she didn't even dare to dream of.

She snapped her head up, confused, and scared because anything inexplicable was frightening at this point. Hell with its sick games was something that she hated and feared and yet it was something predictable. Anything that wasn't… was bad.

"No," she breathed out and took a small step back.

She didn't seem to see Castiel who was standing right next to her, Dean noticed. Her eyes scanned the room and widened with pure horror as soon as they fixed on him.

"Bela," he started, his throat strangely hoarse, out of confusion and relief mostly. Heart hammering so loud that for a moment or two it was all Dean could hear.

"No, no, not you again," she shook her head as if refusing to believe that she was seeing, obviously trying to make this hallucination go away. God, what was it now? Another game? Another way to make her feel even worse when there was no worse?

"Bela, listen—"

"Stay away from me!" Panicking, and obviously hyperventilating, she looked around, but her gaze was back at him almost right away because she didn't trust him enough to let him out of his sight even for this shortest length of time. "What do you want from me? Oh, God… What did you do to me?" She glanced at herself yet again and then peered at Dean. "Get out!"

"Just calm down," Dean swallowed and raised his hands up to show that he didn't have anything… like what he used during his sessions back down. The very thought made him sick to the stomach. "It's okay." He tried to sound soothing although his voice was trembling. "Look, you just--"

"Leave me alone!" She screamed and he saw tears forming in her eyes. "Go away, Dean. Not you. Not again. No! I can't… I… Go away!"

Shaking her head she started to back away from him until she reached the closet and her knee hit the chair standing nearby. It gave Bela a start; she turned and rushed to the nearest door that led to the bathroom, thank God. Dean didn't even have time to blink when she slammed it behind her back and he heard the lock clicked close.

"Bela!" He reached the door in one big stride and wiggled the knob. "Damn it."

"Dean—" Castiel started behind him.

"Back off, okay?" Dean snapped without so much as a look back. And softer, "Bela?"

"It was much worse for her than it ever was for you." The angel's voice was calm and reassuring, and it suddenly was frustrating like hell.

"Thank you!" Dean span around. "You really know how to make things easier." He paused and took a deep breath while counting to five in his mind. "Look, thanks. I mean really, thanks, Cas, for saving her and stuff. But now… We kinda need a moment alone, okay?"

Bela kept backing away from the door listening to the voices outside. There were two of them, Dean and someone else. There always was someone else, no big surprise here. Hell could hardly be called a deserted place. Tears were streaming down her face, so hot that it was terrifying at first, until she realized that no matter how long she cried _there_ she couldn't remember feeling anything like that. Well, couldn't remember feeling anything _minor_, except for pain growing stronger. It felt odd now.

She sank onto the tiled floor between the bathtub and the sink in the farthest corner from the door, puller her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and willed herself to stop thinking and feeling and… God, she was so glad when he was gone. She didn't know how it happened or why, and honestly, she never thought much about it but no matter how bad the pain was it was nothing compared to what Dean was doing simply by being around. Ever since she got there she was almost sure he would show up sooner or later; never was lucky enough to escape such kind of things. He was her curse. But she never thought it would be _that_ bad.

His eyes were green. She remembered them green. But there, when he was looking at her, they were almost black, like of those who'd come to her before him. Demonic black. And when she thought about how much pleasure he had slicing her flesh into pieces it hurt a lot more than actual torture. Sometimes Bela wondered – whenever she was able to think – if it was his choice to come to her. Almost definitely, yes. His hour of revenge. And truthfully, she couldn't even blame him for it. But she was endlessly grateful to those who made him leave hoping she'd never see him again. Her own guilt mixed with deep hatred she felt coming from him were something that made hell actual _hell_ to her. What did she do to deserve this again?

"Jesus, you can't stop freaking me out," Dean breathed out when Castiel simply disappeared without so much as goodbye. He leaned his forehead against the door and put his hand onto the wooden surface. "Bela…" he called out quietly.

"Go away. Please, Dean, leave me alone. Go away. I can't do this again. Please, don't…" She was pleading through convulsive sobs, her voice high-pitched and muffled. "I can't, I can't… Please. Not again. Not you. I can't—" It faded away replaced by the sound of her crying.

Inside, Bela buried her face into her knees trying to hold back her tears. It was only making things worse when she was crying. Each of them liked it most. The harder she cried, the louder she screamed, the more pain they caused. The more things they were thinking out to make this pain _beyond_ unbearable. She knew she shouldn't cry or beg or scream because it was only leading farther into suffering but at some point her consciousness was slipping away giving space to instincts. And it was the end.

"Listen to me, okay? Just listen to me," Dean was almost pleading now, too. "Everything's okay now. I won't touch you." He paused. "It is not hell. You're alive." Another pause. "You're safe now. No one is going to hurt you, Bela. Please, open the door."

_Oh, right_, she thought angrily. Like anyone would ever believe that. It couldn't be true. No one could come to life once they were dead.

She pressed her knees harder to her chest. So hard she could barely breathe, unable to control her tears and knowing that it couldn't be happening for real. Soon this moment of relief would be gone, she knew that without a doubt, only she couldn't get the point of this game. What did they want from her? Probably wanted her to believe that she actually was free so that it hurt even more when they were back to their favorite endless entertainment.

The thought squeezed her chest and she shook her head again refusing to even start thinking about it. Refusing to start thinking generally. There was no escape. She knew it better than anyone. No escape and no hope and…

It couldn't be true. If – _if!_ – by any chance she was alive, which was impossible of course, then Dean was obviously alive, too, and two miracles were too much to believe in. Okay, she could admit that maybe there was a way to get out. Who knew? And maybe Dean found out how to do it, or somebody helped him from outside, more likely. But what she was sure of was that he would never ever try and save her. Illusion.

"Bela, please…"

He lowered himself onto the floor listening carefully to what was going on behind the door. Heard her low whimpering and it was like a knife digging into his heart and cutting it into pieces. Strangely, it seemed a lot more painful than anything he had to go through before.

Okay, he'd give her some time, Dean decided. The door wasn't a challenge at all but he knew she might as well have a heart attack if he broke it off right away. It was better to try and persuade her to come out on her own will. She couldn't stay there forever. And he had plenty of time. Like all the time in the world, if she needed it.

She was scared of him, maybe even more than she ever was down there. He saw it in her eyes. And obviously she wasn't getting what was going on, which he couldn't blame her for.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," his voice was low but he knew that she could hear him.

"Go away," Dean heard from inside. "Please, go away, Dean," she was repeating over and over again as if those were the only words she knew. "Please ask them to send someone else. I can't do it again. Please, go away. I can't."

"Can you listen to me?" He waited but she never said anything; not that he expected. Not that he needed her permission. "I know that no words can change what I did and no excuses can cover it. But it wasn't my choice. I swear it never was my choice." Head leaned against the doorframe, Dean closed his eyes setting all his demons free. "I can't even begin to say how sorry I am for what had happened down there. I'm endlessly sorry for what I had to do to you and for all the pain I caused. I wish there was something I could do to take it all away."

He stumbled and fell silent. How could he possibly say what couldn't be said with the words? How could he express what he felt when he never did it before? Not like that anyway.

"I'm sorry for being a blind fool. I'm so sorry for turning my back on you. And I know that you will never forgive me, and I'm not trying to make you understand me because I know that it is impossible. But I want you to know that I will never be able to forgive myself, too."

Dean let another ten minutes pass before speaking again. She never made a single sound in this time. "You really are alive now, Bela, believe it or not. I had to blackmail an angel to get you out, which is going to backfire seriously but I don't care. I just… This world is a pretty crappy place, you know," he chuckled, to himself mostly because she was hardly able to appreciate any humor. "I just couldn't leave you there after what happened to you."

He started counting in his mind again wondering if she remembered as much as he did. If she remembered _everything_.

Bela bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut so tight that her eyelids started to hurt but it was a different kind of pain. Almost pleasant to her surprise. It meant that there was a tiny chance that Dean Winchester was telling the truth. She felt alive. She felt blood running through her veins. She felt every single cell of her body, something that she never paid attention to before.

Damn it, it slipped her mind. The things she told him when she had nothing to lose anymore. The whole truth. The whole story of her life. Foolish. But there was time when she hoped – and it was nothing but grasping at straws – that it would make things easier once he knew everything. Of course it didn't change anything. She remembered his expression so clearly when she was trying to explain that she had no choice. And actually, no one was ever offering her any choice at all. She didn't even know who the damned girl with red eyes was, and when she found out it was too late to change anything.

His face was a stone mask, lips pursed tight and eyes emotionless. She wondered then if he heard a word of what she was saying. And when he didn't react one way or another, she also confessed that she never regretted that everything happened the way it happened knowing that her dear Mommy and Daddy most likely went straight to hell, too. She was pretty sure of that. But that was the moment when she lost the train of her thought, and she never brought up this topic again. Almost forgot about it.

"I wish you told me everything from the start," Dean whispered. "Although I can't blame you for not doing that. Not that we were BFF, you know."

Maybe it was a better idea to let Castiel talk to her first, Dean thought bitterly. Maybe he shouldn't have shown up for a while and let her get used to the idea that she was no longer dead. He didn't do it for show anyway. Maybe it was better to stay away generally. Like, forever. Knowing that she was alive would pretty much do it.

"Bela?" She sniffed in acknowledgement, and Dean let out a small sigh of relief. At least she didn't faint or something. "I couldn't do it any other way… back there. I was a coward. It was so tempting to stop this endless torture that at some point I stopped thinking about the others. I stopped thinking about losing myself. It was the wrong choice, you know. Like a very wrong choice because it sort of sent the whole world to hell. I don't know if I mentioned it but we're kinda expecting Apocalypse any day now." He looked up and tried to make something out in the darkness but he knew that the dawn would break soon. "I literary started the end of the world with my bare hands, now isn't it honorable? I'm a big damn hero. Pretty much twisted inside out hero." And then. "And I can't stop thinking that it wasn't right to save me but they didn't do it only because I was such an awesome guy, see. There is always price to pay."

Confessions. He couldn't remember the last time he was sharing his thoughts with anyone. Not even his brother on their best days together. Save alone the fact that these days were long gone.

"I'm not going away," he warned her after a while just so she knew. "You can stay there as long as you want but I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you alone again. Only a dolt makes the same mistake twice, and I've already made it so many times that I lost count of them." _And obviously, I'm worse than a dolt_, he added mentally.

Slowly, Bela uncurled herself because she couldn't seat like that anymore, her limbs gone numb. The tile was cold but she could barely feel it. It was dark, and she didn't know where the switch was. And truthfully, she didn't want any light now. She hesitated for a moment trying to cope with the realization that it wasn't a dream. She _was_ alive. The hardest realization to kick in ever.

And then she crouched to the door and leaned her back against it. Could hear his breath on the other side, on the same level with her head, and imagined him sitting exactly the same way right behind the door.

"I wouldn't blame you if you hated me," Dean said all of a sudden after a long pause. Actually, if it weren't for his soft breath she would most likely think that he'd left, in spite of what he promised. "You can't imagine how much I hate myself, Bela." His throat clogged and his voice was breaking with emotions but somehow he managed to push the words out. "Been hating myself every bloody second ever since I signed up for this endless nightmare. Sometimes I wish they left me in hell because I wasn't the one who deserved second chance. It is damn fair though that they are making me sort out the mess I caused."

There was pain in his voice, and she caught her breath, surprised how much it hurt to hear it. He caught his breath, too, at the sound of the sharp intake of hers, and she realized belatedly that he probably didn't think she was that close. She lifted her arm and pressed her palm hard into the wood where he back was, or where it could be, more like that.

"You didn't know, did you?" She asked in a whisper, out of wish to make him keep talking because the sound of his voice was somehow soothing. Darkness and silence felt safer but oddly she didn't want it anymore.

Dean chuckled bitterly. "It wasn't in my labor contract," he admitted. "Honestly, I think I woulda saved the world just fine simply by dying two years ago in this friggin' car accident." He rubbed his face and let out a heavy sigh. "And now they want me to be a superhero when I don't even know how to be myself. I don't know who I am anymore…"

She didn't say anything to that, probably agreeing. Or maybe not. Maybe she wasn't even paying much attention to what he was saying.

"You were pretty damn right after all, Bela, you know?"

"About what?"

"We're all gong to hell. Most of time I feel like I am already there."

And what kind of a place is this world if even angels can betray?

He didn't know how much time had passed after that. Several hours. He watched the sun going up outside the window, listened to people talking and cars passing by but he barely moved in all this time, feeling terribly tired and absolutely world-weary. Thought a couple of times about picking the damn lock, if only to make sure that she was okay but at least she stopped screaming and asking him to leave, and probably wasn't even crying. He couldn't hear that either. Reminded himself to thank Castiel later for not only bringing Bela back but also for using his teleportation trick so that she didn't come to life in her coffin. His own experience proved that it could kill as easily as a bullet.

Several times Dean's phone started to ring and in the end he simply turned it off. Wasn't quite in a chatty mood, truth be told. Whoever it was, he didn't feel like he wanted to hear what they wanted to say.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked some time after the sunset. "I know I said that I wouldn't but I… I will if you want me to." _Say no, please say no_.

The lock that clicked open gave Dean a start. Surprised, he jolted when she pulled the door open. At some point he started to think that she was seriously planning to stay locked in that bathroom forever.

"Hey."

Dean looked inside and saw her sitting there, her shoulder and head leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes were puffy and red after all these long hours or crying and she looked… Damn it, she looked amazing. To him, she never looked better, except for her gaze that was like a razor's blade cutting right through his soul. It was killing him to think that she, just like him, left some part of her behind and it would always stay there. Some things even time couldn't change.

Bela gave herself half a second to study him before shifting in her place to move a bit closer so that she was sitting in the doorway, her knees resting on the room floor. He looked terrible, she had to admit, dim light assumed. Worse than she'd ever seen him before. Even when he came to her searching for the Colt, panicking and furious, he didn't look like he was losing the battle. Now he did. He looked defeated and hopeless and not even anywhere close to what she remembered. There was no sign of what she thought she'd see after what he'd been down in the pit. He didn't move, simply watched her, face twisted with pain, uncertainty and fear. It was bruised, too – she didn't register that detail earlier – and she wondered how it happened.

"I'm seriously screwed yet again, huh?" His throat felt dry.

Bela swallowed uneasily. Following an impulse, she reached her hand out and traced the cut on his forehead, right above his left eyebrow with her fingertips. It was stitched but obviously healing although she was sure it was going to leave a scar as a reminder.

"What happened?" She asked in a whisper so low it was barely audible.

"Punch first, talk later," he shrugged matter-of-factly. Her touch felt cool and his skin tingled where her fingers came in contact with it.

She nodded not quite eager to know the details. Moved a bit closer and bumped her head into his shoulder.

"Oh, God, Bela, " Dean whispered. Closed his eyes and buried his face into her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so really sorry." She was crying again, silently, without a sound, only her body was shaking, breaking him to shatters and dust. "Please, don't… I don't know what to say or what to do to make it better. It's… it's okay. It's just me," he said in a low voice and if only she wasn't crying Bela was sure she wouldn't be able to help laughing hysterically at his wording. God, she might as well take _it's just me_ like a warning, or a threat, or both.

He was silent for a long time after that thinking about their destroyed lives and everything they could have had if only they both made other choices when they could. "Is there any chance that you will stop looking at me and seeing a monster?"

"I don't know," she said honestly without looking up. "But I will give it a try."

**The end

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